Worst Days
by Reagan
Summary: 17 People...post script


"Worst Days"  
By: Reagan Vir87@bigfoot.com  
Who: Toby, Leo, Jed  
Warnings: PG-15, adult language, depictions of death and war  
Description: A postscript for 17 People. Any more gives it all away.  
  
Author's notes: This is fairly depressing at points, but I don't think you'll walk away wanting to put your head through glass. :) All mistakes are mine and purely unintentional. And in case you didn't know feedback kicks ass. Drop me a line telling me what you think. I can take criticism, somewhat.  
  
Disclamer: The West Wing belongs to Aaron Sorkin, Warner Brothers, NBC, and their respective actors. That's not me. So I don't own them, and no money is being made. Please don't sue.  
  
The link below is where I got some unit stuff from. I hope these men don't mind. Check out their page if you are so inclined, I'm glad I can only imagine the horrors they saw first hand. Their service shall not be forgotten.  
http://www.9thinfantrydivision.com/  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I wonder if you can actually wear a hole in the carpet because of pacing. It's been two hours and I'm still pacing. I've slammed the door so hard the glass shook. Sat in my chair. Thrown my foam balls at the walls. Paced. Hit the wall, then paced some more. The conversation won't go away though.  
  
I stood in the Oval Office and yelled at the President of the United States. I yelled about betrayal, deceit, lies, and conspiracies. I berated him about his lack of trust in us, accused them of a coup d'etat. I did everything but the one thing I should have. I didn't ask about him. The President has a degenerating, debilitating illness that will eventually incapacitate him and I didn't bother to ask about him personally.  
  
Two hours later I'm hating myself for acting like I didn't give a damn about him as a person. The appearance that I'm totally consumed by the job, the public, the sting of betrayal. I admire him. He's a good man whose body is slowly destroying him. There is a point, possibly in the next two years, when his keen intellect will dissipate. When everything that makes him a great man will literally decay. For two hours I've tried to understand why such a thing is possible. Why it will happen. Why it will happen to him. I don't think I ever will.  
  
There are a million things I need to do to prepare for the coming days. So many plans must be made, but the one thing I didn't do drowns out everything else. My feet are propelling me down the hallway before I fully realize my decision. For the first time in my life I have no idea what I'm going to say. The words I use to make my living, beyond my grasp. I just know that the roaring in my ears will never go away if this day ends without me asking about him as a person, not the President.  
  
The reception area is empty save for the Secret Service man standing at the doorway. The surety of this action fades as I think about whether he'd even want to see me after our row. Hesitatingly I approach the connecting doorway, the question clear in my eyes.  
  
The agent seems to examine me for a minute before reaching back to knock on the closed door behind him. Whatever questions he asked himself about me, answered. A voice calls out, "Come," and the agent opens the door stepping aside to allow me entrance.  
  
President Bartlet and Leo McGarry are sitting across from one another in the chairs at the middle of the office. Leo looks surprised to see me. I have no idea what the President is thinking. I've stopped just inside the doorway. There's a soft click behind me and I know that the three of us are alone again, just like two hours ago. They're looking at me expectantly.  
  
"How are you sir?" I ask, grateful my voice is steady.  
  
"What do you want Toby?" Did he deliberately misunderstand me?  
  
"Are *you* okay sir?" I tried again.  
  
"I'm fine." He still hasn't answered the question to my satisfaction and I can't tell what he's thinking.  
  
"Any pain?" I need him to understand that I'm asking about him, not his job.  
  
"No, I'm not in any pain." He replied, some of the tension seeming to ebb away.  
  
"I shouldn't have yelled at you sir." It's as close to an apology as I can make. I was right. Every reprimand justified, but I still needed to make amends.  
  
"I lied to you. To all of you." He seemed willing to let it go at that. I couldn't.  
  
"That doesn't give me the right to question your choices, Mr. President."  
  
"You won't be the last." Leo spoke up for the first time.  
  
I nod at them, leaning back against the wall near the door. "This won't be easy," I throw out, testing the waters.  
  
Bartlet turns his head a little to assess me, "You didn't sign on for this Toby."  
  
The upward quirk of my lips is mostly hidden by the beard, but I'm sure they see the twinkle in my eyes. "I serve at the pleasure of the President."  
  
He smiles at me and some of the weight that I placed on his shoulders disappears. "Thanks Toby, but it doesn't change the fact that I lied."  
  
For the first time in my life I find myself needing to and willing to reassure someone. I understand only to well the sleepless nights this must have caused. The doubts and uncertainties that must plague him. They'll probably never go away but I am unable to remain silent in the face of them. It's only lying from a certain point of view. "I've never told anyone about the worst day of my life, how it still effects me today. That doesn't mean I lied to everyone sir."  
  
"What happened?" He asked, genuinely intrigued.  
  
"There's a reason I've never told anyone Mr. President." What the hell what I thinking? I tried to throw out an olive branch. Instead I toss this anchor on my soul. I can feel my palms start to sweat, fighting against this overwhelming desire to run out of the room as far away as possible.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
God how does he do that? I'd swear his eyes can see clear though to my soul. The interest has disappeared, in its place is a question of trust. He needs to know that I still trust him. That I've forgiven him. This is his way of asking without vocalizing the question. How can I refuse and not irrevocably tear asunder our relationship? Opening Pandora's Box won't change anything but withholding will figuratively kill the three of us. He needs my forgiveness. How can I walk away from that?  
  
"October 21, 1972." As I say the words the last of the tension flows from his shoulders and I know I've made the correct choice, no matter how personally painful.  
  
I close my eyes for a second attempting to banish the images permanently seared there. Needing a moment to gather myself for the coming ordeal. I gesture towards the drink cart on the other side of the room. The President nods his head giving tacit permission and I look to Leo silently asking if he'd mind.  
  
"Sure Toby, get what you want." Leo's trying to make this easier for me.  
  
I turn my back on the two men endeavoring to hide the fact that I'm perspiring in a climate controlled room. I don't want them to see the power these memories still have over me almost thirty years later. Placing ice in two glasses I pour an overly generous measure of scotch in one and the customary two fingers in the other. I grab a bottled water for Leo.  
  
They're being patient with me. It's just unfortunate that I can't keep my back to them forever. Steeling my courage I convey the refreshments to the settee handing the President the other scotch hoping he didn't notice the slight tremor in my hand.  
  
Taking a long pull of my own scotch I sit on one of the couches facing both men loosening my tie, undoing the top button. "Technically it was four days. Three of those leading up to the fourth that were the worst days of my life."   
  
"Did you two know I was in Vietnam?" I ask once again putting off the conversation for a minute. Leo nods but the President looks surprised. I guess he's never actually looked at the dossiers the Secret Service undoubtedly compiled on each of the senior staff.  
  
"Drafted?" Bartlet asks giving no obvious indication of his opinion on that.  
  
"Yes sir: 9th Infantry, 4th Battalion, 47th Infantry Division, 2nd Platoon, Bravo Company." I list off for him from rote memory. I guess some things you never forget.  
  
In a monotone I continue, "I had been in country for six months. We were somewhere in Cambodia at that time. The reconnaissance maps never were that accurate. All I know is that we were in the middle of the jungle almost forty clicks from base. We had *no* business being that far out."  
  
"There weren't really front lines per say in the jungle. We'd take some land, they'd recover, then the cycle would start over. But it was suicidal to venture that far out. My platoon sergeant was an idiot. A gung-ho imbecile who thought it was the most glorious thing in the world to exterminate the Viet Cong."  
  
"There were twelve of us in the squad and when a couple men asked what we were doing so far from base, Morrison would snap back at them about duty and obligation while pointing his M-16 at them. He said there was one more village up ahead he wanted to clean out before we turned back for supplies."  
  
"Morrison had only been with the platoon for a month and a half. Almost everyone had threatened to 'accidently' kill him in our next skirmish. Morale was terrible, everyone on edge, jumpy. It was just after lunch when we came upon the village. I didn't know whether to be elated or concerned that it was deserted." God I was such and idiot and where the hell are one of my balls so my hands won't fidget?  
  
"I don't know what clued me in or tipped me off but the second we stepped into the village I knew something was wrong. A chill went down my spine. Unsure if it was just me I turned to my friend Jimmy Thompson. We'd been together since basic, best friends. He recognized my apprehension and nodded his head. He felt the undercurrent there as well. The cry from the hut ahead of us sealed the deal. Someone had just walked over my grave and I stopped dead in my tracks. When Morrison kept advancing I cried out 'Wait!' Everyone in the squad stopped then."  
  
'Morrison this is a trap.' "I tried to warn him, god I told that moron to stop, but he wouldn't listen. No eighteen year old buck private who'd been drafted was going to tell the almighty Alexander Morrison what to do." 'You're a coward Ziegler. A fucking coward. Get your ass up here.'  
  
There was no way they missed the sweat on my brow now. Both men had leaned forward almost out of their chairs, drinks forgotten. Mine wasn't, and I took another healthy pull before picking the story back up.  
  
"I stood my ground. He might shoot me but I wasn't going to enter the hut where that baby was crying. He shouted every expletive imaginable at me and some unbelievable combinations too. Once he figured out that no matter what he said I wasn't moving he turned his back on me. Promising to have me up on charges when we got back to base. I tried to tell him again that this was a trap. People don't abandon babies unless they're booby trapped."  
  
I saw the President snap back like I'd hit him. Revulsion clearly etched on his face. I tried for a grin, it came out a scowl. "Another hard learned lesson. If I hadn't seen it I wouldn't believe it sir. The VC would put grenades under the child so when you took them out of their crib it'd blow you to hell. What kind of people do that?" I spat out unable to sit still any longer. I gulped down the last of my scotch before slamming the glass on the table. My diatribe continued as I ripped off the tie that seemed to be choking me and wiped my hand over my forehead. "How do you fight people who would do that? What the fuck were we doing there even trying?"  
  
I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants as I paced, eventually ending up leaning on a wall in a vain attempt to put distance between myself and the vivid memories. It didn't work. I guess I got caught up in the visions so the room was silent for sometime before Leo called out to me, "What happened Toby?"  
  
Maybe he knew that I had to get this out. He probably understood only to well that the nightmares were worse trapped in the cycle of your own mind. I stared at him for a moment. Yeah, Leo understood horror.  
  
"He kept advancing towards the hut, everybody in the squad started to back away. I certainly wasn't the senior man there, but everyone seemed to trust my judgement on that one. So we slowly backed off. I didn't even notice Morrison enter, but I heard the click of the trip wire. Felt the heat of the flames that licked out from the mini-inferno. I was paralyzed for what seemed like an eternity. He was dead. There was no doubt about that, but my brain just couldn't connect. Only when Jimmy grabbed me pushing us back towards the jungle did I hear the weapons fire. It was only a glimpse out of my peripheral vision, but I saw the movement. I knew there was a cell of VC chasing us."  
  
I took a deep breath willing my hands to stop shaking. It didn't happen. "It was a nightmarish fire fight. Only nine of us made it out of the village alive. We were miles from any help. The VC had to have known that. They chased us for three days, sir. We'd lose them for a while stopping to catch our breath, eat a ration bar, get a thirty minute nap."  
  
"I became the de facto leader. Jimmy, Mark and the others were looking to me for answers, like because I knew it was a trap I'd know how to get us outta there. I didn't have a fucking clue. A city kid from Brooklyn leading eight other guys though a fucking jungle in southeast Asia." My caustic bark of laughter echoed in the room. "I just knew to head east and temper our mad dash with enough caution to avoid the booby traps interspersed throughout the jungle. We were lucky. Damn lucky, it just didn't last long enough."  
  
"Shortly after dawn that third morning they caught us. We were exhausted. We'd been in the jungle for weeks. God only knows when the last time one of us had slept for six hours, let alone eight. Cambodia is where I became a raving insomniac, but we had pushed past all human limits. Had we been alert we might have heard them. Known of their approach. They were practically on top of us when they opened fire. Our only saving grace was the gulch. They'll all over the terrain there. Places where the monsoon rains have eroded the ground. It was before the rainy season really started but the gully still had some running water. There was a little clearing around it, the water must have washed away several trees and vines. So we had an opportunity to get back under some cover to try and fight them off. Determined bastards didn't want to let us go, but eventually backed off, knowing that we'd start moving again and the chase would recommence."  
  
"Six of us were still alive. Everyone but the medic Joey, and Mark were injured. Jimmy had a chest wound. Joey did the best he could with his meager medical supplies. The only blessing was that he doped him up on so much morphine that Jimmy was unaware of everything. Mark carried Tom. Joey assisted a limping Rich. Adam had caught one in the arm, so he was on his own. Joey shot me up with a local then helped me throw Jimmy over my other shoulder."  
  
"They followed us for five more hours, trading pot shots, but not coming to close. They knew we inside normal patrol lines. Charlie company damn near cleaved us when we blundered upon them accidently. They covered our backs as we stumbled the last two clicks to base. When we finally got there I put Jimmy on a stretcher. He was fading fast but wouldn't let go of my hand."  
  
My voice shook as I unconsciously wrapped my arms around myself. My body tried to burrow further into the wall but there was no where else to go. The President looked drained and Leo's hands were white from gripping the chair to hard. "They were practically running the stretcher back to the field hospital, inserting IVs, checking his pulse and pupils. Jimmy was a couple of years older than I. He had a wife and little girl, he'd never actually seen. But he had this photo of her, carried it around everywhere. He pulled me down closer to him. Begging me to take care of them. Making me promise to watch over them in his steed. I swore I would and he smiled at me. They swept him into the operating room immediately. I remained at the door to watch. Twenty minutes later they pulled the sheet over him. It was to late, lost to much blood."  
  
The tears didn't register till I tasted the salt on my lips. I pulled out of the memory long enough to realize that I had transfixed the two men. Equal parts horrified and enthralled at the tale. My voice was a horse whisper, "Five of us survived. Five out of twelve. There was an inquiry, several days of questioning. On the seventh day I was released from the hospital. The board met, acquitting us of any wrong doing. Then in some comically tragic farce they pinned a Bronze Star next to my Purple Heart and promoted me to corporal, giving each of us 10 days medical leave. They called it a fitting decoration for valor and leadership. Like I was some kind of hero. Seven men were murdered and I'm some kind of fucking hero?" I couldn't go on, my voice choked off by the sobs I could no longer suppress. I couldn't see anything through my tears, nearly jumping out of my skin at the President's touch.  
  
I've never been the type of person to crave touch. Men hugging holds no appeal. But that night in the Oval Office I clung to the President of the United States like a drowning man. Leo was there too, rubbing my back whispering what I assume were reassuring words. Although they were incomprehensible to me at the moment. It seemed forever before my breathing was once again under control. Then the tears stopped. I held fast to Josiah Bartlet, my head buried in his shoulder afraid to look up. Mortified at crying like a baby, to have shown this weakness to these men. Leo must have understood my predicament because he put his hand on the back of my neck squeezing gently in reassurance when he spoke.  
  
"I cried the night my best friend picked me up out of the gutter, telling me I was a drunk who was killing himself. Telling me I was killing his best friend. He held me as my world fell apart and I finally admitted I needed help. The next day he looked me in the eye with respect as I told him I was going into rehab."  
  
Bartlet cut in then, in a soothing fatherly tone. "It's okay to cry Toby. God knows you've held that in thirty years to long. I certainly don't think any less of you and neither does Leo. I shouldn't have pushed you into this but I'm deeply moved by your trust in us. Look at me Toby."  
  
The command was gentle and I looked up with bloodshot eyes. He didn't let go of me so I left my arms on his shoulders. "I'm glad you allowed us to share this with you. You weren't at fault and have no reason to feel guilty for living. Your friend wouldn't want that. Let this burden go, its weighted you down for to long my friend."  
  
I nodded as the two of them led me back to the couch. Leo thrust his unopened bottled water into my hands instructing me to drink. After moving the flower placement from the coffee table to the floor the two men sat across from me. Half a bottle of water later Jed Bartlet broke the silence.  
  
"Do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions?"  
  
I shook my head no making a circular motion with my hand inviting them to proceed.  
  
"Where were you shot?"  
  
I gaped at POTUS, shocked that he asked the question. It didn't matter though so I showed them.  
  
"In the shoulder." I undid another couple of buttons on my dress shirt exposing part of my shoulder. Pulling at the collar of my undershirt I showed them the still visible three inch scar along my clavicle.  
  
They seemed fascinated by it. Bartlet couldn't seem to stop himself as he tentatively reached out to rub the still rough skin. I was mesmerized by the compassion in his visage. I knew that he cared about people. That he was a giving man, but that facet of his personality had never been focused on me. I was enraptured and any doubts I ever had about Josiah Bartlet running for reelection were vanquished forever. And I made a vow to myself that neither John Hoynes nor any Republican was going to push him out of office if he didn't wish to leave in two years.  
  
Touching the scar must have appeased whatever started the impulse in the first place because he nodded and withdrew his hand.  
  
Leo asked the next question. "Did you go back to active duty?"  
"Yeah," was my soft sigh. "I finished my tour. I spent one year in the jungles of Cambodia, Vietnam and Laos." Smirking at the end of my codicil, "Used the G.I. Bill to go to college and law school."  
  
Both men smiled at that and I felt immeasurably better.  
  
"What about his wife and child?" Bartlet tentatively ventured, obviously leery of broaching another potentially painful subject.  
  
"Julie met a guy a couple of years later. They're still married, have a couple of kids themselves."  
  
"And the little girl?" Leo pressed, concerned father shining through.  
  
"Lance, her husband, and I came to an agreement. He paid for college. I paid for medical school. She's a surgeon in Chicago saving countless lives as some sort of penance for the one life she couldn't. She's a good kid though. I know Jimmy's proud of her."  
  
They smiled again in agreement. This time the question was mine. "Are you okay sir?" Returning full circle to the thing that brought me back here tonight.  
  
"I'm okay Toby, you?"  
  
This time I was sure of his answer. The roaring in my ears finally fading away. I'm so exhausted I hope that I'll just pass right out tonight. Unfortunately in the coming days I know the nightmares will return. I also know that the grip anger and guilt have on me won't be as strong. "I'm okay sir," because coming here was necessary and the correct decision.  
  
They must be satisfied with my answer because they've each grabbed a hand pulling me up out of the couch propelling me toward the door. "Toby I want you to go directly to the garage. Don't take any work home with you. One of the drivers will be waiting. I don't want you driving home tonight or when coming in tomorrow. You are to go home and sleep. If I hear you're in this building before tomorrow's nine am staff meeting you will be in deep trouble. Do I make myself clear?" Jed Bartlet lectured.  
  
I didn't believe it was possible for not working to sound so pleasant. I don't even want to argue with him about the fact that I can take care of myself. "Yes sir. Goodnight and thank you. Both of you."  
  
I turn and walk out the door knowing that Leo's following me to make sure I do as directed. I don't even bother to hide my smile this time.  
  
*The End*  
  



End file.
